


Hazard

by Lirendil



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, I guess this could also count as, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, assassin!Tracer, it's all in the attitude, stud!Tracer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 12:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirendil/pseuds/Lirendil
Summary: Talon’s latest assassin is the newest, most unpredictable co-worker that Widowmaker has yet had to deal with. She doesn't trust the way Tracer flits around between the women on base - and likes even less when those big brown eyes begin to linger on her a little too much. As the weeks go on, being anywhere near Tracer is the last thing Widowmaker wants. If only their world were large enough to afford her that luxury.





	Hazard

Tracer was a wildcard.

She had arrived on base completely unexpectedly, her origins entirely unknown as far as Widowmaker and her sources knew. A part of her wondered whether she was yet another product of Dr. O’Deorain’s secret reserve of human lab rats, but if so, she had come out the exact opposite of Widowmaker’s cool demeanor.

She was brash and loud, vocal about what she wanted and volatile when something went wrong. And yet at other times she grinned over the silliest things, a strangely carefree humor about her that hardly seemed to fit her profession. It would be easy to compare her to Sombra on the surface, but beyond that it felt all wrong. Even Sombra had a restraint that this assassin did not. She lived for a kill just like Widowmaker, and sought other distractions when such a thing was inaccessible. Widowmaker could understand that too.

But one day, she realized that she herself might have become an object of such _distraction_. That was unacceptable.

Tracer was a threat.

Widowmaker had seen the way she interacted with the women on base, certainly winding up in more than one of their beds often enough if her lingering touches and the laughter she drew were anything to go by. In a way, she seemed to be genuinely liked… but Widowmaker didn't trust it. She had a magnetizing energy about her that was designed to lure people in. Her airy voice and seemingly unkempt hair were calculated to make her appear non-threatening and attractive - to some people, Widowmaker quickly amended to herself. But she saw through that veneer and knew that Tracer was very aware of the effect she had and used it to every advantage.

Widowmaker had tried to express such disapproval through narrowed eyes the day that they had finally run into each other in the hall. It was the first time that she had been so close to that pixie face lighting up in greeting even as her eyes most certainly took in the full extent of Widowmaker’s get-up, head to toe and back again. Widowmaker had felt something a little odd twisting in her chest. She wasn't used to being looked at quite like that by a woman quite like that. The smile had turned a little more interested, Tracer’s hand extending in what Widowmaker had belatedly realized was a handshake. She had introduced herself and Widowmaker had automatically uttered that she knew who she was and ignored the greeting entirely. She had hoped that would deter Tracer from trying to talk to her ever again, but as she’d walked past, she’d felt the heat on the back of her neck from what was undoubtedly Tracer’s eyes watching her every movement until she turned a corner.

Sure enough, the one-sided greetings had continued since then.

Widowmaker still occasionally thought about that first meeting, remembering where her discomfort around Tracer had come from. Widowmaker had no interest in people because they made her feel nothing, but Tracer… she was an anomaly. Would Widowmaker be more receptive to her advances if she didn't feel so threatening? She wasn't sure she even wanted to consider it. Either way, Widowmaker did not like feeling out of control and it looked like that was the very definition of that agent. She was untamed and yet got everything she wanted. It was infuriating as someone who centered her entire existence around order and rules. Tracer was just looking for something else to consume in her insatiable hedonistic appetite, and Widowmaker wanted nothing to do with it.

Unsurprisingly, Widowmaker then took every precaution she could to avoid the annoyance who hovered around her like a gnat whenever they happened to be in the same corner of base. They had fortunately never been assigned missions together. _Yet_ might be a necessary addendum, but Widowmaker didn’t want to think about that horror at the moment. She just wanted to be left in peace.

And so had Widowmaker pointedly avoided her current task of fetching the key card in her locker that she needed for her next mission. Tracer tended to be in the locker room most afternoons, and the last time Widowmaker had been there, she had finished up just as Tracer had sat down on a bench and begun to pull off her-

Widowmaker mentally slapped herself out of that memory as something vaguely akin to warmth rose to her face. It was a good thing she hadn't needed to stay beyond that. But it was evening now and Sombra had told her that Tracer was in a meeting anyway, so Widowmaker should have the room to herself. She walked inside, the door closing behind her. She looked to the side to check who else was in here.

Too late, she remembered that Sombra was absolutely _never_ to be trusted.

Tracer glanced over, a lopsided smile slowly growing on her face as she registered Widowmaker’s presence. Her doe eyes and freckles belied the guile that Widowmaker knew was behind them. She looked a dangerous combination of charming and roguish as she leaned against the lockers in black leggings and a tank top just short enough to reveal a sliver of pale skin.

“Fancy meeting you here.” The white flash of a grin recalled a Cheshire cat baring his teeth.

Widowmaker said nothing in reply, merely walking to her locker and holding a card up to its sensor to open it. The quicker she did this, the better - she was not going to give the impression that Tracer was getting to her by walking back out.

“Not in the mood for conversation, I see. Well, I could carry on one perfectly on my own.”

“Must you?” Widowmaker muttered.

“Only taking advantage of the situation. You're a hard person to run into, after all. Been busy on missions?”

Widowmaker kept looking through her locker and remained quiet.

“I haven't been nearly as occupied as I'd like. Sometimes I wonder if they get me stir-crazy on purpose.” Her voice sounded rather dark just then… but in her next words, it was gone. “I'm sure you must have had plenty of action to go around.”

No answer.

“Do you usually stay on base when you've got downtime? Or have you got a place somewhere else? France, maybe? Mm, there must be some gorgeous towns there. D’you ever miss it? Oh, you must, I know I would.”

Why was Tracer still insisting?

“I saw your last mission, you know. Mine happened to bring me to the area - not sure why Talon didn't warn me I'd have company.”

It was because Widowmaker had unexpectedly wound up there after a chase, but she wasn't in the mood to give an inch and reply.

“I was rather far away, but I saw you lining up that shot and… it's the only thing I've ever seen that's taken my mind off a target. The way you move, so graceful and precise…” Tracer’s voice sounded unnervingly close as it softened. “You make a kill so lovely. My complete opposite.”

The startlingly apt compliment and its sensual tone slipped unexpectedly beneath her skin. There seemed to be undercurrents of both awe and envy - Widowmaker tried to take her mind off of deciding which was winning out because she was still clinging to her resolve to not engage in conversation.

“Well, you're clearly not in the socializing mood.” Tracer pursed her lips in consternation, at last backing off. “Guess I'll carry on, then.” She returned to her locker, pulling out a shirt which she placed on the bench next to her. Widowmaker let out a breath and glanced over curiously to see what kind of emotion Tracer’s face might be betraying with her failure to get what she wanted. Then Tracer reached for the hem of her tank top and-

Widowmaker froze as it came up over her head and was also deposited on the bench, leaving her in only a sports bra. Just as Tracer leaned down to open her bag, Widowmaker returned her gaze to the locker.

Tracer, curse her, somehow had eyes in the back of her head. “Hm, you look bothered, love. But you were a ballet dancer, weren't you? Surely you're well acquainted with human anatomy.”

“I am not _bothered_ ,” Widowmaker grumbled as she rifled through her things, too distracted to register that she had never told Tracer that detail about her past. Where was this key card? Why was it so hard to find things right now?

“Oh, well good.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Widowmaker caught the silhouette of what must have been Tracer pulling her bra off over her head. She blinked at her locker, brain at a standstill. Was this girl that much of an brat, trying so hard to get a rise out of her? Widowmaker shifted her gaze slightly to sure enough, find a bare back turned to her. Tracer was casually pulling things out of her bag, in no rush to reclothe that lithe figure, shoulder blades rolling and bringing out the surprising lean muscles around them.

“You know, if you needed a little refresher on that anatomy, all you had to do was ask.”

Widowmaker redirected her eyes forward, heat blazing across her cheeks. “I do not know what you're talking about.” But she could feel the grin that said that Tracer didn’t buy a word of that. She also heard what must have been her leggings coming off and oh, Widowmaker could have _strangled_ her for that gall if she weren’t so resolute in not, _not_ looking over there because she might actually cease to function.

There was some more rustling of clothes, and then a sigh. “All done. I appreciate the privacy.”

Widowmaker glanced over despite herself and found Tracer in shorts and a muscle tee with large arm holes that made it very obvious that there was no bra underneath. Widowmaker frowned angrily. There was no way this wasn’t some ridiculous, purposeful attempt at getting her all-

“You look like you've never seen a pair of pyjamas before.”

That… would make sense. Widowmaker suddenly found herself wondering if she were imagining some of - but no. No, there was no innocence behind that look on Tracer’s face right now. This was so frustrating and Widowmaker couldn't stand not knowing what to do about it.

Or maybe she did, but just didn't like it.

Returning to her locker, Widowmaker reached into yet another bag that she had checked twice already - hand alighting on her prize. She chalked her long search up to poor luck that, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that her attention had been rather diverted for the past several minutes. But that would all be over now that she grabbed the key card and shoved it into the pouch strapped to her thigh.

She turned towards the door, then, but she had hardly taken two steps when Tracer sidled past her to stop her in her path.

Widowmaker looked down at her with unamused eyes. “Move.”

“You forgot this, love.”

Widowmaker’s gaze landed on the hand between them which was holding her locker card. Had she really dropped it? She took it from Tracer’s fingers with not a small dose of suspicion. “So are you going to let me go, or do you have more idle chatter to annoy me with?

But Tracer’s expression was far more sober than earlier as she rolled her words around her mouth. “So… I'm gonna be honest, yeah?”

“Something so out of character could only end badly.”

Tracer mock pouted. “You wound me. I'm serious when it comes to the important things. Let me prove it to you.”

“Letting you do anything does not sound safe.”

“Nothing we do is safe. Thought that's what you got off on.”

“Not when it involves people.”

“But I'm not _people_ , love. I'm _me_. And I know you made that distinction a long time ago.”

“Fine,” Widowmaker bit out. “You figured out that you irritate me more than most. What do you want?”

“I…” Tracer lowered her gaze for a moment before returning with full intensity, “enjoy you. Admire you. Would like to get to know you in a way that's more than just this.”

The low words made Widowmaker’s rational mind feel a little unsteady again. “And what is _this_?”

“Walking past you. Watching you. Watching you watch me.”

Widowmaker shifted uncomfortably beneath Tracer’s knowing eyes. “You sound so sure of that.”

“I am. I'm doing you a favor, love. You don't have to keep your curiosity to yourself. You can just give in.” Tracer’s hand rose in a way that could have reached for Widowmaker’s face just as easily as her own.

Widowmaker steeled her jaw. “What, so I can be another one of your conquests?”

Tracer drew away, eyebrows raised. “This isn't about conquering you, love, and I think I'd get my arse handed to me if I tried.” She smiled wryly. “I just want what I want. No harm in that, right?” Her eyes glanced over Widowmaker’s body before meeting her gaze again with a spark that looked more than a little devious.

Something told Widowmaker that there would most certainly be harm involved in something like this. “So you would back off if I said no?”

Tracer frowned a bit, clearly not liking that possibility. “If you-”

“Answer me.” Widowmaker took an aggressive step into her.

“Yes. I would.”

“And if I told you to stay away from me, you would agree to keep out of my sight?”

“Sure, although that's rather impossible given that we work in the same-”

Widowmaker gave her a small push backwards, cutting off the miffed tone. “And what about if I agreed but you crossed a line? Would you still believe you deserve to get… how did you put it… your ass handed to you?”

Tracer seemed confused. “Of course.”

Widowmaker brought up a heel to Tracer’s chest to send her reeling back, hitting the lockers behind her with wide eyes.

Widowmaker stalked towards her. “So then, you would agree to any punishment I saw fit.”

Tracer blinked, a hint of understanding lighting up a glint in her eyes. “It'd only be fair.”

“Even if it’s harsh?”

“I'd ask for it.”

Widowmaker stopped inches in front of her, looking down into a heated gaze. “Even if it hurts?”

“I'd beg for it.”

The faintest shiver ran up Widowmaker’s spine. Her eyes flicked across Tracer’s face, catching a glimpse of the tongue that ran over her lips. Tracer’s breathing wasn't quite even, but then, neither was her own.

She wasn't sure who moved first, but suddenly Widowmaker’s hands were pulling at Tracer’s shirt, Tracer’s hands were on her waist, and those warm, insolent lips were captured by hers.

Yes, turns out this was exactly what she needed to do about this.

Widowmaker met Tracer’s hunger with all of the agitation that had been trapped inside her. She was quite out of practice, but she made up for it in the pent-up energy that had been itching so strongly, assaulting Tracer’s lips with pulls and bites and a tongue quite willing to meet hers. On the other hand, it didn’t take long to decide that Tracer was a very skillful kisser - something that didn’t surprise Widowmaker in the slightest because there had to be _something_ physical that made half the women on base want more of her. That certainly meant she was also quite good at-

That dangerous thought came just as Tracer’s hands slid a little lower and subtly pulled her hips closer. She tried to banish the image but it just became muddled in the sensation of Tracer’s mouth wandering across her jaw and down her neck. She knew she wasn’t designed to feel anything and yet there was a burn in her chest that she simply couldn’t extinguish. Tracer’s hold on her as she was subjected to the ministration of lips and tongue and teeth was far more than the mere _tolerable_ that Widowmaker usually saw these things as. This was actually… _enjoyable_.

Too enjoyable.

Widowmaker pulled away with a step back. Tracer tried to follow but instead got her arm grabbed and twisted behind her as she was pinned face-first against the lockers. For some time, the only sound in the room was heavy breathing as they both sought to recover the air their lungs had lost. Widowmaker brought herself back to reality, remembering that she’d decided not to indulge this quite so readily.

She leaned in slowly, lips grazing Tracer’s ear. “I still have to punish you for how impossibly annoying you have been around me. Don't bother following me out.”

Tracer was still catching her breath. “I can't believe you're doing me this dirty, love.”

“You said you'd beg for it.”

“Not what I was thinking, but I suppose you have got me there.”

“Better luck next time.” Widowmaker released her and began to walk away.

Tracer turned around, shaking out her arm. “So there will be a next time?”

“If you deserve it.”

“And what way am I supposed to take that?”

Widowmaker paused at the door. “You will just have to figure that out for yourself.”

There was a grin on Tracer’s face. And just as Widowmaker walked out into the hall, she heard echoes of light laughter from inside the room.

She found… that maybe she could get rather used to it.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote like three lines of this back when Retribution came out and I saw this fanart from Robohero. Mm. I don’t know what came over me a few days ago that suddenly I wrote everything around it, but hey here we are. There may be a bit of a sequel eventually… but we shall see.


End file.
